


A Glimpse of Love

by Velnica



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Fluff, Hair-pulling, Long-Haired Yuri Plisetsky, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9573968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velnica/pseuds/Velnica
Summary: Just mere days after the Russian Nationals, Yuri found himself in the rink for a grueling morning training on a Sunday. But when he received an Instagram tag from Otabek with him and Yuri’s grandpa in the picture, what’s a guy to do but chase his unexpected boyfriend?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eerieryoko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eerieryoko/gifts).



> A gift for my beautiful Secret Santa giftee Eerie. Hope you enjoy this one my lovely!
> 
> The poem featured is titled A Glimpse by the famed American poet Walt Whitman.

_Thock!_

The sound of blades landing on ice reverberated through the empty skating rink. Why was it empty you asked? Because it was 8 am on some god-forsaken Sunday morning and people had better things to do than skate around in a freezing arena whilst their coach made out with his old protege. Yet here was 21-year old Yuri Plisetsky—two times GPF gold medallist, one time European gold medalist and on his way to a second if his momentum holds—doing seemingly fifty flips lutz and axels in a row and trying his hardest to drown out the wet kissing noises with loud slices of blades against ice. He might have landed too heavily on some jumps but he didn’t care. Why did he have to put up with two middle-aged men being gross anyway? Oh that’s right, cause he wanted that goddamn gold medal so fucking badly.

He just landed a quad flip when Viktor’s voice rang through the chilled air to call him back to the barrier.

As he skated his way towards the rink side he mercifully noticed Katsudon had managed to pry himself off Idiot Coach so he didn’t have to see any action up close. His other friends—traitors, his mind supplied—would’ve whooped and cheered at the lovey dovey couple but not him, he’d just pretend he’s used to the damn display… but _fuck_ , Viktor has that stupid knowing grin on his face and Yuri just felt himself _snap_.

“Perfect quad flip, Yurio! I think you’ve got the hang of balancing the speed and entry angle after the previous combo. Time to practice the step sequence now and then we can run through the routine again before break—“

“NO!” Viktor visibly flinched at his yell, good.

“I beg your pardon?” The silver haired man asked incredulously.

Yuri was leaning on the rail now, long haired tumbled down and sticking to his bare arms. His breaths were still short; fifty goddamn jumps took a lot of stamina and unlike a certain Piggy he did not have it in abundance.

“You’ve…” _huff_ “gotta be fucking joking you old geezer…” _puff_ “I’m not doing more practice WHILST YOU SUCK ON KATSUDON’S FACE!” Fuck, yelling did not help his breathing situation in the slightest. Worse was that the knowing grin was back on Viktor’s face but he said nothing, simply letting him huff and puff his way to regain some semblance of oxygen. Once he got out of the ice he swore Viktor would get a right hook to the stomach.

Between strained breaths he noticed Yuuri had re-entered the room and in a few long strides had made his way back to Viktor’s side to whisper in his ears. Yuri couldn’t even bring himself to spark that constant tiny jealous ember in his fury. “Look you Idiot Coach, it’s 3 days after the Nationals and I want to chill and eat pirozhki and cuddle Anna instead of being stuck here with a balding man and a fatty—”

“OK!” Viktor beamed in response to his outburst, heart shaped grin blooming on his face.

“—Pig… Wait, what?”

His coach smiled conspiratorially, angling his face close so he was level with Yuri’s bent over form. A suspicious shiver went down Yuri’s spine, what the fuck was going on? Viktor’s grin grew bigger as if fueled by his confusion. If there is one situation that Yuri Plisetsky absolutely hated, it’s being kept in the dark. His emotion must’ve showed on his face as immediately Katsudon laid a comforting hand on his arm.

“Sorry for this immature excuse of a coach Yurio, you can go now. I tried stopping him from going overboard but, umm...” Yuuri blushes deeply, still terribly embarrassed whenever their relationship is put on display. Viktor snickered. “Anyway, tell dedushka Nikolai hi from us.” He turned towards the other Russian with a deadly glare under his blue-rimmed glasses, “and you dear Vitya are not getting out of the house until I say so.” With that Katsuki Yuuri dragged his husband out of the rink, leaving with a cryptic yell of _Have fun!_ as the double door swung shut.

Now alone, Yuri felt even more confused and unsettled. He stepped out of the rink and put his blade guards on, zipped up his jacket and grabbed all of his gear. His mind raced a mile a minute. Why did Katsudon wish him fun? Why and how did Viktor go overboard? The rhythmic thudding of his steps as made his way to the locker room calmed him somewhat, letting him sort out his thoughts one beat at a time despite not coming to any concrete conclusion at all. Habitually he flicked on his phone screen only to see a reply notification from Otabek. In annoyance Yuri had sent a 2 messages long rant this morning as he left his house. His frozen fingers did not help his spelling one bit but Otabek got him anyway, like he was an electronic mind reader.

An electronic _boyfriend_ mind reader.

Quickly he typed up a reply, signing it off with a “miss u” and a cat emoji. It’s their signature now, him the cat and Otabek the bear.

The relationship label hadn’t come that easily. There were a lot of bumps in their relationship as they tried to knead and mold their friendship to something more than just cheering each other at championships and picking at each other’s food choices on Instagram. He was halfway packing his gear into their customary bag when he remembered the first time they held hands. It was in a locker room just like this one, but bigger. He’d just flubbed his SP, still receiving respectable score, though the abrupt blow to his second Grand Prix’s momentum was too much to take in the heat of the moment. Yuri was sitting down on a bench, body bent low and hands clutched as if to cradle his heavy head when he could feel another hand rested on his. Otabek’s hand was far warmer than his had been and Yuri found he could not release that comforting feel. The next day he managed to claw back scores with his monstrous FS and beat Mickey for the bronze by two points. From then on whenever he needed reassurance his hand would automatically search for Otabek’s when he thought no one’s looking.

Yuri was proud to hide the habit from his Angels for more than half a year.

His phone buzzed in his pocket as soon as he exited the building. As soon as Instagram loaded he found himself running full speed towards home as the bright homely scene Otabek had tagged him in simply said “Eating @yuri-plisetsky grandpa Nikolai’s famous pirozhki”.

———————

“Deda, where is Otabek?!” Yuri yelled as he skidded his way into the living room in record time. He looked around to give his boyfriend a piece of his mind when he realised no one was home except for his grandfather.

“Ah Yuratchka, Otabek said he had an urgent appointment. I told him to call you but he said he’ll meet you later. He left about fifteen minutes ago.”

“That bastard… did he say where his appointment was?” He ransacked his bag looking for his wallet and keys then stuffed them in his pockets.

“Language Yura! He didn’t say where and plus you’ll meet him later anyway... Hold on, did he not tell you he was coming?” Yuri just shook his head as he sat down to tie his bootlaces, still trying to process Otabek’s mysterious visit. Why now? Why did he run away? Why did he not tell Yuri he was coming? Why the secrecy? His face must have given away his worry as deda crouched down with a creak to gently massage his shoulders like he always does whenever Yuri was in one of his tense mood.

“You know Yuratchka, I like to think I can read people easily but it’s often very hard to read your boyfriend’s expressions. Ah, but I know when he’s happy and he definitely was when he came! He even bought us your favourite vanilla cake from the French bakery near the mall, I’m sure he’ll explain everything later when you meet.” He continued his calming massage, slowly feeling Yuri melt under his firm but gentle hands. After a few silent moments Yuri made a motion for him to stop and then turned to give his grandfather a big hug.

“I know he’s happy with me deda, but I’m not sitting home whilst he suddenly appeared at our doorstep, eat your pirozhki, then run and hide somewhere.” Nikolai burst out laughing at that, a full-bellied laugh that warmed Yuri to the core.

“A Plisetsky through and through my dear Yuratchka! We don’t know when to sit and wait as your babushka would say. Where would you look for him though?”

“Umm… that, well maybe I’d see if he was heading to his usual hotel. Besides that I’m not really sure—”

_Bzzzzzt._

The notification buzz came again, this time for the messaging app, meaning it’s something that’s for him alone to see.

Otabek’s selfie skills had improved, but Yuri still had a hard time figuring out where he was until he saw the colourful dome of the Church of the Saviour in the corner of the picture. Giving his grandfather one last hug he ran out the door, determined to beat his boyfriend in his game.

Unluckily for Yuri, the holiday period meant there were a lot of tourists in St. Petersburg. The canal-side avenue was full of people, even more so now from when Otabek had taken the picture. The man was nowhere in sight and despite Yuri being much taller than he was a few years ago, the amount of crowd around could have hidden the shorter man easily. He needed another tactic. Pulling up the picture on his screen again he moved around to position himself in the same spot that Otabek had taken it. What secrets the position would reveal he didn’t know but he did it anyway, ignoring how silly he looked as he weaved about the crowd waving his phone this way and that.

Finally satisfied that he was in the right spot, he looked around as if there would be traces of his boyfriend lingering in the area. No undercut spotted, no dark green scarf that always adorned his neck, no loud familiar motorbike noise can be heard in the area. Dejected he made a leave to try and circle the area again but a hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. Turning to the person he jolted back as a red rose was shoved in his face. “What the…”

The rose moved to reveal a mime, one of many entertainers working along the avenue. He pulled out a printed picture from his striped chest pocket and pointed at Yuri. It was a picture of him, which means that this mime had met his boyfriend…

“Do you know where Otabek is?” He asked hopefully. The mime just shrugged and instead made a pinching gesture with his thumb and index finger. With one smooth motion he plucked a piece of rolled paper and red ribbon hidden in the rose and handed it to Yuri. With a last miming move he ‘pushes’ himself away from Yuri and back into the crowd.

Bemused and confused, he unfurled the little piece of paper to read a line,written in short cursive handwriting he’d recognise anywhere

_“A glimpse through an interstice caught”_

Huh? What’s that? He flipped and turned the paper in his fingers, hoping for more clues. It looked like part of a poem but why only one line? Cryptic was not really part of Otabek’s demeanour, and this just blew it out of the water a bit.

As if sensing his immense confusion his phone buzzed. The message he received was simple.

_“Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room around the stove late of a winter night”_

Another slew of question marks formed in his mind. It’s so typical of Beka to recite classical poem — he’s been on the receiving end of one too many late-night Byron — but he’s never had it delivered like this, piecemeal and set up like a treasure hunt.

And of course he’s fucking right because the next picture that appeared on his phone is of the Alexander Column in the Palace Square. Yuri didn’t even question the why anymore and instead immediately made a dash towards the West. Buses would be too roundabout and there were too many tourists anyway so he chose to leg it, despite his feet hurting already from this morning’s practice.

———————

The plaza wasn’t yet filled when he got there, the large contingent of tour buses were still in the Church where he left them not half an hour ago. Dodging the growing crowd took some work and though it was winter he was actually sweating. He could feel the root of his hair bun getting damp, a sensation he’s extremely familiar with after years of letting his hair grow. He meant to ask Viktor how he managed to keep the long hair for fucking ever because Yuri was almost ready to give it the chop. Except Otabek loved his hair and he just can’t bring himself to even think of cutting it when his boyfriend wound his tresses around his strong fingers and _tugged_ and Yuri would moan long and low as his neck was exposed—

FOCUS you goddamn idiot! He shook his head to clear out the heated thoughts that had made their way up his spine. His scalp felt even damper now. Grudgingly he pulled at his leopard print hair tie to release the mess of blond hair trapped there. With a flourish the tresses unfurled down his back, the tips just touching the bottom of his shoulder blades.

“Uwaaaaaah, so pretty!”

Yuri turned around at the source of the squeal only to meet thin air. Slowly he lowered his gaze down, down, down until he met another pair of blue eyes at about half his height. A young girl clutching a bunch of flowers was looking at him with stars in her eyes, the same one that Viktor gets whenever he’s particularly in awe of something. They stayed locked in the strange silent one-way admiration for a while until an older lady, also carrying a bucketful of flowers, walked over to pat the girl’s shoulder and snapped her out of her adoration.

“My apologies young man, she does run her mouth off without thinking sometimes. Come now Elena, apologise to the man.” She urged the little girl on. Yuri decided to step in.

He crouched down to the little girl’s height, “Oh no, that… is ok. Really. Admiring someone is not something to apologise for.” His voice sounded sombre even to his ears. But it was true, even if he could not bring it upon himself to openly admit his admiration of the Pork Cutlet Bowl he wasn’t about to rob this girl of her starry eyes. “So next time you admire someone, let them know that you like them, okay? Just… maybe not yell so loudly.” He added the last bit with his trademark grin which in turn made the little girl, Elena, burst out into a beaming smile.

He turned to the lady, Elena's mother he presumed, only to find her looking at him up and down in a manner that reminded him strongly of Lilia’s examining gaze.

“Say, you are Yuri Plisetsky, are you not?” Nowadays he realised he got noticed more and more often on the street. His explosive senior debut had propelled him into stardom and the many medals he had won for Russia has made him somewhat of a superstar for the sports fans in his motherland. Before he could reply though a single stemmed rose was presented to him. Deja Vu prickled at his neck. Hadn’t this just happened literally half an hour ago? Wordlessly he took the rose from the flower lady.

“Let me guess, a dark and mysterious foreigner told you to give this to me.” Her shocked look was all the confirmation he needed.

Really now? This chase just got stranger but somehow even more Otabek. Sure he’d been on receiving ends of flowers before, but none had been in as seemingly thoughtful circumstances as now. Upon further inspection he noticed a tag hanging off the trimmed stem, a small cardboard thing with writings scribbled in black pen.

_"Of a youth who loves me and whom I love, silently approaching and seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand."_

Yuri had the distinct impression that Otabek chose this poem for a very specific reason. That man is methodical to a fault if anything else. Slipping the tag into his back pocket he made a motion to leave but stopped abruptly as a small hand clutched at the edge of his coat. The starry eyes were back on Elena's face with a vengeance.

“Mr. Plisetsky, can I please keep your picture?”

Huh?

“She meant this one, the one that Mr. Altin gave us to identify you.” Elena's mother supplied. In her hand was another printed photo of Yuri, though this one was different to the one the mime had. This one was of him in his starting position on ice, hair down and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. No wonder the lady had known he was Yuri Plisetsky, this was featured practically everywhere after he won the European Championship last year. He took the photo from the lady’s gloved hand and crouched down to give it to the little girl. Giving her an affectionate pat he rose and left with a wave of his hand, mirrored enthusiastically by his newfound fan.

This entire situation started feeling almost like a fairytale. This was all Otabek’s fault, he thought. Yuri Plisetsky was neither a Russian punk, fairy or kitten anymore. The nickname Russian _Ice Princess_ had never seem more apt now, complete with giddy fangirls of all ages following him around. And of course for the Princess there had to be a Prince — or rather a Heroic Knight in shining armour. The tabloids always had a field day everytime he was seen with Otabek in the vicinity. His Angels had started sending Beka their homemade gifts and Yuri memorabilia. One time the blond had been absolutely mortified to find out there was a fake wedding invitation to _their_ wedding going around. The only thing he was missing to complete his Princess transformation would be a set of glass blades on his boots.

His electronic mind reader of a boyfriend must’ve sensed his thoughts as his phone buzzed excitedly in his pocket. Unconsciously he flinched as a very ugly picture of a Rostral Column by the Spit. Even Otabek’s handsome undercut could not save the horrendous architecture, who the fuck decided that vermillion and deep sea green went together? Disgusting. He typed up a reply as his feet moved westward again, expertly avoiding the throng of people flooding into the Palace Square.

_You are going to do all the work tonight you hear me? My legs are dead._

A moment later a reply came through. Yuri choked as the emoji popped up on his screen. This was far from the first time they’d send naughty texts at each other, but the way Otabek always managed to condense his dirty thoughts into very few words always left him all warm under the collar. Yuri closed his messaging app, the [cancer zodiac  emoji](http://emojipedia.org/cancer/) burned into the forefront of his brain.

Flustered and distracted, he didn’t even realise that he’d crossed the bridge and reached the Spit. More people milled about now as the sun climbed higher in the sky. Barely past 11 and there were already a steady stream of tourists coming in and out of the area. Angling his phone he deduced where Otabek was standing as he took the photo. As he expected, there was yet another distinct participant in the area. This time it was one of those tourist photographers, poised as if he knew exactly what his role was in this whole fairytale chase.

Wait, he revised that statement, the man _knew_ exactly what his role was. There was no way meticulous Otabek would leave this to chance.

“A commemorative photo to give to your loved one?” He smiled, gesturing at his polaroid camera.

Yuri sighed inwardly though he didn’t have it in him to veer away from the plan, “He set you up for this didn’t he?” The big grin on the old man’s face answered the question for him. Resigned, he propped his tall body by the fence, back towards the lake. There was no chance in hell he’d be caught dead posing against the ghastly coloured column. Behind him stretched the frozen Neva river as far as the eyes could see. A few brave souls dared to trudge their way across the frozen water, despite the plaques of warning against it. The photographer nudged him left and right until he found suitable composition. Before he could take the shot though Yuri held his hand up. So Otabek wanted a picture huh? Well Yuri was gonna give him a damn good one. Expertly he gathered his long locks that’s been tangled by the wind and gave it a few comb through with his fingers. He styled the blonde strands on his right shoulders, still slightly messy and tumbled in a way that he knew would make Otabek run straight at him to tangle his fingers through and kiss him senselessly in tandem.

The old man waited patiently for him to finish preening and posing, the knowing smile still plastered on his face. Yuri thought it was creepy, though the overly friendly act was probably par for the course considering his job. Finally he motioned for the man to take a photo and after a click and whirr later he was handed a digital print of his photo accompanied by another single red rose with a piece of paper attached to it.

_"A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking and oath and smutty jest_

He looked up to thank the photographer but just as mysteriously as he had entered Yuri’s day, he’d disappeared in the same manner. Tucking the piece of paper into his pocket next to all its siblings, Yuri kicked back on his heel and relaxed against the stone railing, glad to have a chance to catch his breath before the next message arrives. He wasn’t lying when he texted Otabek, his legs burned with exertion. No wonder Katsudon was annoyed at Viktor, they were obviously in on this plan and the arsehole decided to tire him out knowing full well he had to run around the goddamn city chasing after his boyfriend.

Speaking of the plan… Yuri pulled out his phone and opened up a note, typing in all the lines of the poem he’s received so far. It was not one Otabek had ever recited in their late night rendezvous. A sneaky thought creeped into his head then— he furtively copied part of the poem and pasted it into the browser search bar, finger hovering over the search button. Guiltily he looked around as if expecting Otabek to swoop in with that stern face of his, ready to stop Yuri from doing something not-particularly-nice-or-thoughtful. Nothing happened for the next few seconds as he debated the next course of action in his mind. His finger was still hovered over the screen but before he could press anything his phone buzzed startlingly, causing him to scramble around trying to not drop it onto the icy surface of the river below.

The next image is one he was familiar with — the stone lion guarding the entrance of Leningrad zoo filled the screen. He’d been there so many times he could picture the weather-beaten lion statues on the back of his eyelids without much effort. The first time Beka had come to St. Petersburg Yuri had dragged him straight to the zoo for the better part of the day, showing him all of his favourite animals. If Otabek had thought it silly he didn’t say anything, merely matched Yuri’s excited strides and offered indulgent smiles in return, complete with a tiger plushie from the souvenir shop.

As he pushed his way through the tourists coming from the northern bridge he brought his phone back into focus again, still with part of the poem pasted into the search bar. He deliberated for a few moments on continuing with his search but as the sign for the zoo came up on the road signage he hesitated. Otabek had planned this day down to a T and despite Yuri’s rebellious nature he didn’t have it in him to beat Beka to the punchline. Now determined to see the day through he slipped the device back into his pocket with ease, refusing to entertain the thought of cheating anymore.

It was hard not to be impressed with the length and breadth of effort that Otabek had put into today. He should have expected it of course, a man so immersed in romantic and classical arts as him would have had grand gestures planned at some point in time. But truth be told he knew that Otabek, despite all of his intense focus and performance on the ice, was a very simple person. He was content with just riding a bike to a diner in the outskirt of town, or leisurely meandering through libraries and art galleries… to simply just be _together_. This romantic excursion did hit Yuri entirely by surprise.

He didn’t have much time to mull over it though as exhaustion seeped back into his legs, starting from his toes all the way up to his hip joints. At times like this he cursed that his stamina was still not up to par with Katsudon. He pushed through his fatigue however, as the Zoo’s welcome sign appeared around the corner. This time there were tonnes and tonnes of people at the entrance. The pair of lion statues towered over them but Yuri could not see a way to get to the one Otabek had photographed. As he stood still to calculate his move more people rushed in from all sides having been dropped off by the tourist buses. His temper rose as he kept getting jostled around, but before he could snap at the other visitors he could feel a hand firmly slipped into his and his body being led out to the open space away from the crush.

Within seconds he could feel the biting cold winds, free from the suffocating air of the crowd. In front of him stood the man he’d been chasing all morning, looking none the worse for wear. His customary leather jacket was a sight for sore eyes, though the scarf around his neck were starting to look rather frayed and threadbare. Yuri made a mental note to gift a new one to Otabek tomorrow.

He was about to open his mouth when another familiar stem of rose was presented at his face. This time it was his turn to give Otabek the knowing smile as he took the rose with his free hand and brought it to his lips. He could feel Otabek’s eyes follow the red petals’ movement and the little intake of breath as Yuri gave the flower a small kiss.

Quickly before the moment passed Yuri leaned down and pressed their lips together, enjoying the rush as his boyfriend’s stoic expression turned pliant and he slanted his head to deepen the kiss. Yuri was even more pleased when their still-joined hands intertwined fully in a lover’s hold. His grin held as they parted for air and he brought the rose up to his lips again in a gesture that’s far beyond teasing at this point. It turned into a downright dirty smirk as he saw Beka’s eyes grew dark, a telltale sign that they’d be locking themselves up in a room somewhere in the very near future.

The tension snapped though when Otabek released their hands. Confused at the sudden loss of warmth Yuri searched the other man’s expression for clue only to find an expectant look directed at him.

Oh.. of course, the chase has yet to end.

The paper tied around the rose’s stem unfurled easily in his fingers, and the last inked line finally uncovered itself. He pulled out his phone to add in the last line and reveal the entire poem but Beka had other ideas. Stepping inside Yuri’s space he grabbed his hand again to plant a kiss on the pale knuckles. He locked their gaze together before reciting the poem that had followed Yuri all day.

 _“A glimpse through an interstice caught,_  
_Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room around the stove late of a winter night, and I unremark’d seated in a corner,_  
_Of a youth who loves me and whom I love, silently approaching and seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand,_  
_A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking and oath and smutty jest,_  
_There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little, perhaps not a word.”_

Yuri never knew his heart could ever expand with any more love for Otabek, and yet with every gesture and emotion that passed between them he hoped it would never stop. Slowly as if being pulled by an invisible string they came together again, a deep kiss followed by a familiar hug where Otabek laid his chin on Yuri’s shoulder and the taller man rubbed his cheeks against the dark coarse undercut. His back felt incredibly warm as Beka flattened his hands against the loose blond strands and very slowly stroke down until he found the tips before traversing his hand back up and repeating the motion. Words felt cheap to Yuri in moments like this—they’ve had many before, times when they’d stand holding hands watching fireworks in Hasetsu, cuddling in bed the night before a big competition, or when Yuri finally scrounged up the courage to tilt his head up and leave a feather-light first kiss on Otabek’s lips just before their second World Championship together.

Yuri didn’t know how long time passed as they embraced, though eventually the noise from the crowd caught up to the both of them and they slowly slid off each other but leaving their hands attached. He made a motion to pull his boyfriend away from the crowd but Otabek nodded his head towards the entrance of the zoo and procured two entry tickets from within his jackets.

The smile on Yuri’s face was brighter than the winter sun bearing down on them.

———————

Night had fallen when they stumbled their way past the hotel room door. It was a struggle trying to enter the keycard into the slot the right way around in between kisses and groping hands. True to his earlier words Yuri let himself be manhandled by Otabek, lifted clear off the floor and dumped unceremoniously onto the bed in a peal of laughter. A second later his laughs were smothered by a pair of lips pinning him onto the mattress.

They grinned at each other happily when they parted and Yuri wanted to immortalise that look forever, the one where Otabek’s eyes glint with happiness and mischief in equal measure. The frantic desperation they felt between arriving at the hotel and reaching the bed slowly simmered down to a quiet burn. Yuri tugged at one end of Beka’s scarf and unwound the frazzled knit from around his neck before distastefully flinging it far away where it landed behind the armchair.

“Do you really hate my scarf that much, Yura?”

He scoffed indignantly, “I'd never be caught dead wearing something so ugly in public, Beka.” Otabek chuckled before diving down to nuzzle Yuri’s neck.

“I still have that photo of you wrapped in nothing but that scarf.” Heat flushed up his neck as the memory rushed back in. After the first time they slept together a couple of years ago, Yuri had made himself cozy when his boyfriend had gone to have a shower. Winter in Canada seemed to seep through the windows of their hotel and he gravitated towards the nearest warm thing he could find which happened to be Otabek’s customary scarf. He'd wound the dark green thing around his naked torso and sunk sleepily onto the hotel comforter.

In his defence that was before the knitted thing become unruly and frayed and not in any way scratchy on his bare skin.

“Shut up, I’ll get you a new one that matches your jacket. Now get back to what you were doing.” Diligently his boyfriend pushed his favourite leopard jumper off his shoulders, followed by the loud tiger-striped top he wore underneath. He sighed into another small kiss before settling down again, happy to let Otabek do the bulk of the work. Next went his belt—also adorned with a tiger head—followed by his shoes and skinny jeans. The release of pressure from the tight clothing on his calves felt so good that he groaned out loud in relief. Strong fingers quickly replaced that pressure almost immediately however and Yuri almost flinched in shock before melting almost completely into the mattress from the deep massage being lavished at his sore limbs.

Otabek, the perfectionist that he was, knew exactly where to press in and where to tread lightly. Every movement was followed by a touch of his lips, drawing soft contented sigh from Yuri. It started at his calf with the sore muscles being kneaded to complete relaxation then moved lower to his foot, the softness of lips contrasting with the callouses that dotted the skin. He was sure the same imperfections were mirrored on the other man’s feet, the proof of their friendship, rivalry and lifelong devotion to skating.

One day he’d have to return the favour.

“Hnnn… Beka, there! Mmm that’s good…” He groaned as Otabek found a particularly tight spot. The cheeky response he got was a nip on his ankle bone and more pressure added to the sole of his foot.

His personal masseuse left no part of his tired legs untouched. Every knots were massaged, every involuntary shiver was stilled by a kiss, every toe thoroughly licked and sucked until Yuri’s breath hitched in his throat. But despite the sensual touches of it all, Yuri could feel himself getting sleepy from the rush of endorphins. Blame Viktor for the unnecessary exercise, his mind supplied, but thank him too or he’d have missed out on this absolutely wonderful treatment from his boyfriend.

He was halfway to a relaxing nap when he belatedly heard a chuckle close to his chest followed by a warm wet tongue licking a broad sweep across his nipple.

 _Haaaaah._ The noise he made must have spurred Beka on as his pace increased, adding the rough pad of a thumb to the other side of his chest and he cried out again. Just as he thought his nipple was starting to hurt, Otabek would switch over, soothing the sensitised nub with soft wet strokes. The ministrations continued until Yuri was convinced he’d made every mewling noise under the sun. His cock was rock-hard without even being touched. Mercifully his tormentor pulled away to rid himself of his clothes, giving Yuri time to catch a semblance of awareness to his surroundings. He dared a look at his boyfriend, only to flush deeply when he noticed how hard Otabek was, his form straining against the black boxer brief that clad his hips in the most delicious manner. Yuri unabashedly raked his eyes along the the stretched fabric, from the base to the tip and further along the divot of muscles snaking up his abdomen, up some more past the muscular pecs and the cord of his neck to finally meet the deep chocolate eyes that were staring back at him in open adoration. In them though was also an unspoken challenge for Yuri to match the pace he’s setting.

The blond’s thoughts want back to the stupid emoji that had been teasing him all day. With a growl he sat up to push Otabek down by his shoulders before he yanked his own underwear and turned his body around, straddling the other man backwards.

The first few moments were always a hazy blur of movements. He’d unceremoniously pushed Beka’s underwear down to lick a trail down the length, moaning against the tip when a slick finger circled teasingly at his own entrance. Yuri didn’t care how Beka managed to procure the lube without him realising. Instead he rutted backwards, a move that his boyfriend was happy to answer as he inserted one long finger in. His body welcomed the sensation, the pressure steadily building low in his gut like stoking embers. In front of him Otabek’s cock twitched expectantly, in time with the movement of his finger. The blond let out a low laugh at his partner’s bedroom antics before gathering his long hair and deliberately cascading it all over Otabek’s sturdy thighs, artfully spreading it so Beka can feel the long tresses scratch against his skin as Yuri bobbed his head.

They settled into a rhythm for a while, just enjoying drawing little groans and sighs from each other in the darkened room. That is until Otabek slid in his tongue alongside his fingers and moved them together in quick, jolting thrusts until Yuri could not remember his part of the bargain. He could do little more than rest his cheek against Beka’s length, his sweat-slicked bangs plastered to his face as he sloppily thrusted back with barely concealed moans. Pleasure and exhaustion tugged at his consciousness, slowly unraveling whatever shred of dignity he had left. His hips moved almost involuntarily as he surrendered to Otabek’s ministration. Time became a useless measure as moans after moans were drawn from his throat. Close, he was so close, if Beka would just curl his fingers…

_Oh fuck._

His mind-reading boyfriend just had to hit his prostate at that moment. Yuri sobbed out loud as his legs nearly gave up under him. He wasn’t even sure how he was still keeping it together, the pleasure that had been steadily building up suddenly blazed red hot behind his eyes. Desperately his hips jolted back, seeking that pressure again— one which Beka was more than happy to give. His fingers rubbed a steady motion against the sensitive spot and with each moment Yuri’s voice pitched higher and higher.

Another hit and he had to slap a hand to his mouth to keep from screaming.

One more thrust and his thighs buckled as sharp pleasure shot up his spine. All that had stopped him from collapsing was Otabek’s arms wrapped around his torso, the same arms that were now tenderly cradling his body to manoeuvre their position around. He could feel his right side flush with the bed as his left leg was raised up and draped over one sweaty shoulder.

A breath was all he had to gather his wit before Otabek slammed home, wracking yet another cry out of Yuri. Everything around him coalesced into this one moment and he clung to the bedsheet with white-knuckled grip as their bodies slapped noisily against each other. The crescendo built again, faster this time. Yuri could feel it in the way Otabek’s grip tightened around his thigh, keeping him in place with vice-like strength. Then his other hand did what Yuri had fantasised him to do all day—wound his blond tresses around his calloused fingers and tugged _hard._

The cry coming out of him must have sounded like music to Beka’s ear because the next thrust was absolutely deep and filthy and made Yuri see stars.

“Beka please I’m—” He shuddered as Otabek hit that spot again. He was rapidly losing coherency.

Gently Beka bent his body forward to change the angle. From his vantage point Yuri looked an absolute mess. His hair was sticky and matted to his forehead with the ends wrapped around one masculine hand and Otabek would not have him any other way.

“Yura, can you—?” A warm hand covered his stiff fingers, slowly prying the digits away from the bedsheet. At this point Yuri would have done anything Otabek commanded. He could feel his hand being placed on his neglected cock and encouraged to pump hard, using the leaking precome to ease the friction. Wordlessly he complied, almost unable to focus on anything but chasing the pleasure in his gut. Their frantic pace hastened and with one last thrust Otabek let out a groan against Yuri’s calf, biting down on the soft skin as he peaked and spend himself inside Yuri.

Too much, it was too much. Yuri came with a scream into the pillow, his whole body wracked in ecstasy. The white behind his eyes exploded into millions of stars and he barely registered the wet strands of come spilling out onto the sheets as he collapsed onto the dirty sheets. The last thing he remembered was warm hands holding him close as he rode his orgasm.

—————

When Yuri opened his eyes next, the first thing he saw was the smooth chest he’d buried his face in. The room was in complete darkness now and the only light he could see came from the digital clock on the bedside table. He thought he could see the number 1 and 20 if he squinted.

The dim glow however was just enough for him to make out the outline of Beka’s body. He sneaked a peek at his boyfriend’s face, tracing the angular jaw with his eyes. They have both grown into full adulthood now, taller, stronger, changed in ways that were both frustrating and exhilarating. Beka hadn’t changed much physically, though he’d somehow found more physical strength that enabled him to up his jump counts. Yuri on the other hand had become much taller but less flexible, something that annoyed him to no end. Season after season he’d had to modify his routines to accommodate his changing body. Small mercies that he hasn’t lost his ability to do a Bielmann. Of all people though Viktor was the one helping him through the style transition, having gone through similarly rapid growth spurt.

Despite being the taller one between the two of them, Yuri loved being the pampered one in the relationship. The solid weight wrapped around him grounded him to the moment and he loved it. It was a feeling he’s never felt before off the ice. Yuri prided himself as a skater who was extremely committed to his craft—a soldier in Beka’s words—yet he never realised how flighty he’d been with his personal life. On ice he was focused, he let himself be immersed into the song, the dance, the momentum. Off ice however… Acquaintances he had many, admirers he'd lost count, friends he had a few… but Beka, Beka was a different feeling. He’d never thought he could be happy simply sharing a moment with him, even if it’s a quick crackling phone call to tell the other ‘Davai’ before a competition, or a late night skype call where he’d shove Anna’s fluffy face onto the webcam until she squirmed in indignation and they both laughed. The warm memories made something in his chest swell and he buried himself deeper into the embrace, breathing in the scent that was so unmistakably Otabek and cataloguing it in a new, happy memory folder in his mind.

Suddenly a rush of cold air hit his over-sensitised skin like a thousand pinpricks and Yuri shivered. Beneath him Otabek stirred awake, one brown eyes opening to peer at the disturbance.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you… Go back to sleep.” He kissed the dip of his boyfriend’s collarbone to soothe him. Instead Otabek just pulled him closer and cuddled into the crown of his head.

“Are you hungry? There’s still some borscht and bread left on the table.” The other man murmured into his blond hair. His hand had started combing through the tresses in a soothing motion. Yuri found he had neither the will nor want to get out of the warm position and instead curled his legs up and over Otabek’s body, snuggling in like the oversized kitten that he was.

The deep chuckle that reverberated beneath his ear made him grin like a cat who just ate the canary.

They settled back into a sleepy lull, with their fingers lazily making circles on each other’s hips. It was then he remembered that he forgot to call deda to tell him he wasn't going to be home for dinner, but Beka had replied and confirmed his suspicion that his grandfather was in on the ruse all along and that he wasn’t expecting either of them to be around for the rest of the day. That brought Yuri back to thinking about his chase. The amount of effort that would’ve gone into yesterday would’ve been monumental.

“Hey… How much did you pay those tourists entertainers to do your bidding?” His boyfriend actually had the audacity to look sheepish at the question. Dammit that means he spent a lot of goddamn money. Yuri was glad he didn’t ruin it then with his impatience. Despite earning a respectable championship winning money and endorsement, Otabek was not the one to spend more than necessary on anything except his motorbike... and on their relationship milestones.

OH.

Realisation hit Yuri like a truck. How had he forgotten all about it? This year they had been too focused with their own respective programs, and it didn’t help that the race to the Grand Prix Final was made that much more tense with the resurgence of one Jean-Jacques Leroy who wanted to retire with a goddamn bang. For days Yuri was salty over the ten point loss to both JJ and Otabek that he’d push himself even harder during Nationals, to the point of worrying even Mila.

His face grew impossibly warm as he embarrassedly pieced two and two together. _“‘appy fifth ‘niversary,”_ he mumbled into Otabek’s chest, earning another round of chuckling from the older man. He said nothing in return, but pulled Yuri up and gave him a deep longing kiss that stole the rest of his breath away. One kiss grew and multiply and when Yuri reluctantly slowed as exhaustion caught up with him again he opened his eyes to see Beka’s smiling face. He offered a knowing smile back before settling down into another sleepy embrace. There was no hurry, no pressure between them. They were simply two people who were content, happy in being together—speaking little and perhaps not a word.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies if any formatting went awry, posting from a tablet is a real challenge.
> 
> To Eerie, I hope you enjoyed the journey! Love, Vel.


End file.
